


An Angel's Tragedy

by PursuitOfDiscovery



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angel History, Angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:12:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PursuitOfDiscovery/pseuds/PursuitOfDiscovery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The history of angels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Angel's Tragedy

They used to call it the Golden Age.

It was a time when angels ruled the Earth and its skies, their alabaster skin delicately shimmering under the evening sun as they spread their majestic wings in flight. They were soldiers, ranked in their ability to fight and protect the colonies they belonged to. And like in any other history, they were subject to one of the worst wars in their time, ichor spilling from their split skin into the supple ground and bathing it in gold. The victorious side celebrated for days, oblivious to the heaviness surrounding them and ignorant of the pain in the air. They were a proud race, but they valued honesty and fairness above all, building a system with equality at the bottom of the pyramid. The angels were years ahead of their time, coming together despite the blood amongst them. 

Now, they hide in the shadows, their dirty wings covering mauled bodies in the back of alleys. Their faces are a cruel mockery of the once illuminous aura that glowed from within. They had fallen apart, broken and bruised and altogether a mere shadow of their former progressive selves. And try as they might, not a single angel had made it out in the open without being speared with an arrow through their heart. So they stuck to the dinghy alleys, cowering and desperate for a taste of the sky.

But it wasn’t always like this. The prophecies had claimed an eternal reign for the angels of God’s heaven. It didn’t turn out the way everyone had hoped.   
No one had expected their millennial rule to come crashing and burning down. No one had expected Castiel.   
***

He was a soldier amongst thousands of others, with his ebony black wings marking him as different from the golden feathers surrounding him. 

And in a world where power and good luck dealt the cards, different was never good. 

As a young baby, his parents had shielded him from the cruel world outside, but even they couldn’t reckon with the force of the cavalry. Every garrison had a trained troop that patrolled the forests, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, any hint of danger. 

They eventually found a young angel wrapped in his black feathers and surrounded by the unnaturally still bodies of his parents. Angels were naturally superstitious and Castiel’s wings were the cause of uncertainty and fear in the hearts of the angels. 

“Where did you find him?” Gabriel questioned the head of the cavalry, his eyes never leaving the mound of papers stacked on his table. 

“In the outskirts of Eldris, sir. His parents were dead when we found them. We’re still not sure who’s responsible. Sir, what are we going to do with the boy?” Samandriel asked. 

Gabriel looked up. As archangel of his garrison, he had a duty to protect his soldiers above all else. And never in his life had he come across an angel like Castiel; he didn’t know if his presence meant bad luck or if his parents’ death was a mere unfortunate event. Either way, he needed all the soldiers he could muster, and if Castiel was involved, it would simply lighten the load. 

“We’ll place in him in the care of the garrison’s nursery. He might prove to be of some use,” he mused.

Gabriel dismissed Samandriel and went back to the tedious filing. He prayed to his Father for something exciting to stir up, especially if it meant some kind of action around the camp. Being archangel was all work and no play, and for a natural prankster like Gabriel, it was like the eighth ring of hell.

Never before had his prayers been answered so quickly.  
***

Castiel looked around the strange room filled with golden light, quietly noticing the stares and the less than obvious signs that the older angels made. He remembered seeing his mother do those same signs to ward off the devil. He tilted his head, confused. 

“Why are they doing that?” he asked the angel beside him. 

Samandriel didn’t know what to say to him. “How about we introduce to the other angels here?”

He had Castiel say his name, and three of his pastimes. The other angels looked confused when he said that he loved reading, drawing and flying.  
“What about sparring?”  
“Haven’t you ever gone hunting?”  
“You must be pretty weak if you don’t like sparring.”  
As the angels giggled at that, Castiel shrank back, not knowing how to respond. Samandriel took pity on him and helped him settle into his private room, giving him the rest of the day off.

Whilst not everyone knew of Castiel’s reason for staying at the nursery, it was a matter of days before the news of the black winged angel spread, growing like wildfire. Some rumoured that he had killed his own parents with his bare hands, others reasoned that he controlled and murdered them with his mind. Whatever the rumour, the mere presence of his wings sparked a general sense of unease. Castiel remained quiet the entire time, keeping to himself and seldom spending time outside.

And as the days turned to weeks and eventually months, the rumours had died down to an occasional flicker, although the angels managed to keep a safe distance around him. 

With only the occasional visit from Samandriel to keep him company, as well as the call in from the floor warden, Castiel thought of new ways to keep himself occupied. He spent most of his time either painting or reading, too afraid of flying out in the open of the garrison’s camp. When painting, his simple rendering evoked a sense of home. He kept improving with each passing stroke, the colours harmonising with every painting he produced.   
It was a summer evening when he was in the middle of painting a sunset whilst expecting a visit from Samandriel. He was touching up the colours when he heard a dull thud behind him. He wiped the crimson paint on his apron and turned to look. 

Samandriel lay still on his back, a shaft protruding from his heart.

Castiel screamed.  
***

Haniel rushed into Gabriel’s headquarters, breathless and flushed, her eyes wide with panic. Gabriel took one look at his assistant and got up.

“Sir…it’s Samandriel.” 

Gabriel closed his eyes. 

A funeral was arranged for the cavalry leader. His body was covered in a pale gold cloth and lilies were pressed to his chest. The garrison was gathered in mourning, silent prayers on everyone’s lips. The sky was filled with grey clouds, rain beginning to pour in a reflection of the sombre atmosphere. 

Everyone paid their respects to their beloved angel, refraining from commenting on his death. The rumours surrounding Castiel were now considered to be gospel and his silence simply added fuel to the fire. 

Gabriel requested Castiel’s presence in his chamber. 

“Sir, with all due respect, I think I should be present,” Haniel gave the archangel a pointed look, looking at Castiel with wide eyes. Gabriel sighed, shaking his head with resignation until Haniel left.

Once they were inside, away from prying eyes, Gabriel turned to the angel.   
“What happened?”  
Castiel cleared his throat, as if using it for the first time in a long time. “I don’t know. Sir.” He added as an afterthought. “I heard something behind me, and when I turned, I found Samandriel wounded by an arrow. That’s when I cried out.” Castiel looked down. 

Gabriel frowned. “You didn’t hear or see anything before that?”  
“No sir.”  
“Do you know what everyone’s talking about?”  
“That I killed him? Yes, I’ve heard the accusations. But I didn’t do it.” 

Gabriel sighed. “Castiel, you’re…different. And the fact that you have been a witness of three deaths in the past year alone mean that the other angels aren’t going to take kindly to you, no matter how much you try to prove otherwise.”  
Castiel tilted his head. “I…I don’t understand. What do I need to do?”

Gabriel truly had no idea. Fifteen years on the job had not prepared him for a moment such as this. 

“You will be on constant supervision at all times. And you will move to a room shared by plenty of other angels. You will need to report to the Elders. They might be of some help, but meanwhile, gain the trust of others.” Gabriel instructed. He was almost sorry for the boy, who looked bewildered and overwhelmed. 

“Yes…sir.”  
***

Castiel still wasn’t sure what it was that had happened back at his old room at the other end of the nursery, but the archangel’s orders were strict and all the more ominous at the wake. He sent out a silent prayer for the angel that had fallen and continued on his way. 

This room was similar to his old, albeit much larger and with far more beds around the room. The pastel colours dragged the atmosphere down and the air seemed heavier with a hidden tension. There were more unfamiliar faces here that looked up when he entered, a quiet air of distrust wafting from them. He kept his head down and shuffled forward, his small frame unable to carry his pack properly. 

“Gain their trust.”

Castiel had no idea how to, especially when he was an alleged murderer.  
And in response, not a single angel talked to him, choosing to ignore him for their own sake. Lessons were on a standstill till the Elders calmed the angels so a temporary respite was given to all of the young angels. Weeks passed without Castiel saying a word, but he made up for his lack of conversation in every way he could, electing to help around the nursery without prompt. The quiet in the air when he did his chores was maddening but he bore them with gritted teeth and clenched fists. 

Once the lessons started, he buried himself in it wholeheartedly, absorbing the history, art and culture of his kind with a single minded focus. While he performed outstandingly in every one of his classes, he still remained unsatisfied, craving companionship from those who ignored him day in and day out. 

But as the years passed, he ignored that need, blocking it out for his own sanity. Whilst the other angels wove their way through the canopies of the forest, Castiel stared from his window, too afraid to leave the comfort of his room and yet too suffocated to stay.

He soon started taking care of the angels younger than him. They were too young to have understood his misfortune and therefore too young to judge him for a crime he had not committed. The young angels dragged him around their room, their tiny chubby fingers wrapped around Castiel’s slender hands. They soon came to adore him, especially Anael, who followed him around everywhere enthusiastically, watching with rapture every time he painted for them. Other times, it was intense concentration at the words being uttered from his pink lips, his storytelling known for being more animated than any of the manuscripts and folk tales in the library.

Castiel had become so used to the presence of the younger angels, he almost fell backwards when he saw Gabriel standing by the doorway, his eyebrows raised at the scene in front of him. That morning, Castiel had gotten everyone to paint a picture of their favourite angel in the garrison and had settled in a corner with a puzzle for himself. 

Gabriel motioned Castiel to come over. 

“Aren’t you a little young yourself to be taking of them?” he questioned.  
Castiel thought about it. “I suppose so. But it’s easier than sitting in a suffocating silence with the angels in my room.” Castiel explained.

Gabriel sighed. There wasn’t anything he could do, but he promised Castiel that he would dispel the rumours as soon as possible. 

Neither of them knew how long that would take.  
***

A soft melody filled the air, each note lingering like a subtle aftertaste. Castiel played his favourite song on the piano, a ballad of the ancient angels, his eyes closed as he reveled in the music. The angels had come to appreciate the harmony he brought with his music, despite his differences and the fact that his past contained more turmoil than peace. 

It had taken a few more years for the angels to accept Castiel for his hard work around the nursery and the community beyond. And though the presence of his wings were still a mark of unease, the relative quiet and undisturbed run of events did more to Castiel than he realised.

Anael ran up to him, waiting for the final notes to come to a still before delivering the news.   
“Castiel, the Elders are requesting your presence in their chambers.” She said, bouncing on her heels, her red curls dancing around her.   
“Thank you, dear Anael. May I say, your dress today is very pretty.” Castiel complimented the glowing angel. She preened under the attention. 

He set about to the chambers, wondering with a growing sense of anxiety at what it could be about. Why were they still keeping such a close eye on him?  
He pushed the carved mahogany door open, treading softly over the lush carpet underneath. 

“Seniores. You requested my presence?” Castiel said, keeping his head bent. 

They looked up from their tables. 

“Castiel. Welcome. We understand that your time here…has been not quite what you expected. In all fairness, we weren’t sure what to expect either” The Elder sitting in the middle began. 

Castiel was tired of having his past affect the present he always wanted. He nodded, tired already.

“And we while we still don’t know what happened that caused those murders all those years ago, we are reluctant nonetheless about assigning you a position in the garrison without knowing the full extent of what might transpire.”  
“But,” the Elders looked at one another, “We believe you may bring a valuable asset to our garrison. And war is never planned. You will begin training soon.” they finished and looked at him, expectant. 

Castiel let go of a breath he didn’t he was holding. He nodded slowly, his mind trying to catch up with what was being said. 

“Of course, Seniores.”  
***  
That evening, Castiel was transferred to the garrison’s training camp. It was the first time in a while where he had spent such a significant time with the other angels, who still eyed him with uneasiness. 

Castiel sighed. Their training as warriors in one of God’s armies required teamwork and trust, and with the bad blood lingering in the air, they would all be as weak as the weakest link. And right now, all their links seemed to be in no coordination with one another.

He forced the thoughts away and tried to concentrate on their commander’s introduction. 

“Iuvenes angeli. Today’s labor might seem like child’s play to all of you. Make no mistake of assuming that the years to come will be like your first day, for it won’t. You will only reap the benefits of the efforts that you place in training. Slack away, and you will be killed in battle. My job is to make sure you all receive the opportunity to train. What you do with that gift of knowledge is up to you. May peace follow in your wake.” The commander, Uriel, bowed before the new recruits, his sickly gold wings arching by his sides in a warning of an unknown threat. The angels lowered their heads in respect and not a single word left anyone’s lips. As soon as the commander was out of their view, the angels shuffled around, trying to make their way to their lessons. 

Castiel looked down at the rolled manuscript in his hands. Prying its edges open, he squinted at the flowing calligraphy, trying to make out where he should be heading.

Duellum.

Castiel groaned. 

His first day, and he had to start off by harming another angel. He ruffled his wings in annoyance before reining in his emotions.

The training arena was a large oval, with white pieces of cloth laid out to mark the duel boundaries, a surprisingly small area upon closer inspection. The other angels were already donning the chain mail, scrambling to the shed nearby to find a sword to fit them. 

The angel in charge, Balthazar, called out suggestions and remarks from the edge of the arena, his strange accent carrying across the vast space.  
“The sword should feel like an extension of you hand. An extension. You have one more turn of the hourglass before you preliminary duel.”

Castiel eyed the rows upon rows of swords, each one giving out a dull glow under the flickering light of the rusty shed. 

He grasped the hilt of a sword closest to him, testing out its unfamiliar weight. It was heavier than he had anticipated, as were the other swords around. 

The other angels were slowly filtering out, exclaiming at the perfect balance of their acquired sword, or the perfect momentum of its swing. Before long, Castiel was the only one left in the shed, still yet to find his sword. It seemed as though every sword was too big, or too small or simply awkward in his slender fingers. He was about to give up all hope, before his eyes landed on a sword tucked away in a corner. Something about it wasn’t quite right. Whilst all of the other swords glowed in a serene yellow light, this particular sword seemed to be emanating a deep blue glow. Drawn to it and unable to look away, Castiel picked it up. It wasn’t a moment of fireworks when he decided that this was the sword, but a wash of calm and a collected cool. 

He stepped outside with a sense of purpose he had never felt before, only to be greeted by the contempt and the disdain of the angels before him. 

“Well, Castiel, I’m assuming you know all about duelling as you haven’t paid a single note of attention to the time you have wasted. Why don’t you demonstrate to your fellow angels what an ‘undercut’ is?” Balthazar smirked. 

Castiel faltered. Despite the inner nirvana, he had no idea what an undercut was, except for the obvious. With no other solution presenting itself in his mind, he lowered his sword and swung both his arms upward, the sword piercing the air. 

There was a moment of silence before Balthazar sighed. 

“Pay attention, Castiel, and do not be late,” the angel reprimanded him, “and here is what an undercut is.” Balthazar walked over to Castiel and lifted his right hand up. “Hold it there.”  
Castiel almost fell over when Balthazar swung around in a powerful arch, the swords clanging in a deafening clash.  
“Now, you try.” 

An hour passed before Balthazar allowed the angels to duel each other, covering the swords in a blunt sheathe for protection. Castiel took a deep breath before stepping onto the mat, his opponent sneering on the other side.

A conch sounded in the air.

And Castiel ceased all thought. 

He blocked the first weak attacks and switched tactics, his mind running on autopilot. He thrust his sword near his opponent’s ribs, easily deflecting the sword before they could become a full own attack. Barely a few minutes had passed before the other angel lay on his back, purple and blue bruises blooming on his dark skin. Castiel dropped his sword, sweat dripping from his brow. He crouched down on his legs, spreading out his arms and gasping for air. Balthazar walked up to their boundary and stared at them.

“Well, I’ll be.” Balthazar raised his eyebrows.  
***  
The other angels gathered around the pair, silence holding them awestruck at the duel they had just witnessed. Most of them had only seen the final moments, but even those few seconds were enough to garner that Castiel was learning quickly, much more so than anyone else. 

Often, even Balthazar couldn’t take his eyes off of Castiel, simply because it was clear that the boy was a natural and the elegance with which he carried himself was mesmerizing. And while there were almost always rumours arguing the merits on why he was so exceptional, whether it was just pure talent, or black magic, Balthazar was convinced that Castiel was someone to keep an eye on at all times.

In the training section of the garrison, lessons were constantly running throughout the day, with archery, mission tactics, diplomacy, war strategy, cooking, weaponry and flight lessons being taught in addition to duelling. At the end of two years, the angels chose their field, and if the angels in charge accepted them, they were through. But if not, they were often assigned to fields without enough positions.

It was the morning of the choosing ceremony, and Castiel had no doubt in his mind that he wanted to be a part of the duelling unit. And when it was time for the angels in command to choose their recruits, Castiel uttered a silent prayer to their Father. 

No sooner had he finished his prayer and Balthazar had said his name, an inhumane scream sounded amongst the audience settled in the arena.  
Castiel’s eyes widened, his mind flashing back to Samandriel’s death, a sense of déjà vu tingling through his spine. All the angels began crowding around the source of the scream. And when Castiel caught sight of the crumpled body, her wings burnt into the ground, all he could see was the sword stuck into the angel’s heart, a dark blue glowing from its centre. 

That evening, a funeral was arranged for the fallen angel, Haniel. After the funeral, one of the angels removed the sword from her heart and handed it to Castiel. 

He didn’t know what to say. 

And later that night, the Seniores were gathered around the hand carved table, their faces stony cold in light of the recent events.

“We must punish him.” One of them spoke up.  
“But he was there at the ceremony, it couldn’t have been him.”   
“What if he had an accomplice? That was his sword, his own. It was an act of defiance and murder that belonged to him.”   
“Well, that might be true, but we still have no actual evidence.”  
“No evidence? Isn’t that damned sword evidence enough?”  
“Surely you are all smarter than tha-”

Their arguments were cut off by the arrival of a breathless messenger. He was covered in dust and blood, barely conscious to report to the Seniores.  
“Seniores.”  
“What? What is it?”   
“There is an army of nephilim on the verge of attack just a hundred miles west from here. It might be Lucifer’s.”

The weight of his words dawned on them after he dropped to the floor, no longer breathing, no longer alive.  
***

All surrounding garrisons were informed of the imminent attack, the possibility of a full-fledged war striking fear in the Seniores and the archangels. The messenger hadn’t had the time to give a report on the number of nephilim; the odds would’ve changed significantly depending on their numbers. Gabriel immediately sent out a few groups of scouts, not only to the west of the garrison, but to the north, south and the east as well, in case there was a possibility it was just a decoy attack and the war was about to happen elsewhere. 

And while the officials waited on the scouts to return, preparations for war were underway. Any and every angel with weapons and the skill were required to report to duty.

And that included Castiel.

While the Seniores had been divided on that particular matter, Balthazar convinced Gabriel to let Castiel in the front lines with promises of keeping a watchful eye on him at all times. Gabriel had reluctantly agreed, but with a war so close, he was also hesitant to leave out one of the best swordsman in the garrison. 

It took three days for the commanding angels to prep their troops and another two before they finally heard word of the enemy’s own soldiers. It turned out that Gabriel had been right; not only was there a mounted army in the west, but two more flanking their sides on the north and the south. 

The angels waged war on the nephilim two days after that. 

Whilst the nephilim were thriving under the protection of Lucifer, they were no match for the eventual strength of the angels, even though the blood split on the battlefield looked like equal part ichor and blood. 

During the first few days, things began to look promising for the angels as they slowly drove the nephilim back to their own boundaries. Gabriel was intent on celebrating their successes, but Michael and Raphael had both known Lucifer for far longer, and grew increasingly anxious over what other cards Lucifer had up his sleeve. 

Meanwhile, amidst the battle field, Castiel felt like he was on fire. The nephilim collapsed in his presence, falling to their demise as he brandished his sword. His uncanny skill was soon the talk of the angels, and of the nephilim. Some of the angels and the nephilim even swore that he looked like he was on fire, his tan skin glowing in the heat, his raven black hair looking like the ashes from the fire that was burning inside of him. His blue eyes pierced through the nephilim, pinning them down and rendered helpless, his black wings flared in fury. Castiel was an intimidating sight in the middle of the battle, and once the nephilim realised this, their scouts reported to their commander at once.

He dismissed their concerns with a flick of his wrist. Castiel seemed like a spanner in the nephilim’s works, but he was the thread that would unravel the angels when the moment arrived. Lucifer smiled.

Six days had passed since, the war looking the same since they had started, with both sides equally matched. However, signs of fatigue were showing amongst both the angels and the nephilim, their movements becoming slightly sluggish, the casualties spiking up on both sides. Despite that, the angels still believed that the momentum of the war was on their side. 

But on the seventh day, Lucifer himself showed up in the midst of the raging battle, his white wings painting a picture of a delicate angel. His white hair shone in the morning light, the perfect image of a brooding leader, when everyone knew that he was the serpent in disguise. 

He took flight into the blue skies, and when he spotted the shock of black hair amidst the gold, he smirked, landing straight in Castiel’s path.   
“Truce.”  
Those who were close enough to hear, dropped their weapons, retreating to their respective camps. Castiel turned in shock, unable to place the stranger in front of him, but he knew that this was a familiar face. 

“Retreat!” Gabriel shouted to the angels, frowning at the unprecedented request from Lucifer. 

The Seniores and the archangels gathered around, unable to decide their next move as a whole.  
“We should attack them now.”  
“We are angels, not heathens. We will respect his truce, just as we uphold our honour.”  
“But what does he want?”  
“How about you ask him yourself?” Lucifer interrupted, a vicious smile on his face.   
Michael rolled his eyes, baring his teeth in defiance. “Well then, brother, what is the truce for?”   
“I’ll be honest with you,” Lucifer started, “I expected this to be a short war. I didn’t expect…this. So I will make an offer. A duel with an angel from your troops. If she or he wins, I will retreat. But if now, you must surrender.”  
“I volunteer.” Michael said immediately.  
“Weren’t you listening, brother? Not an archangel, not a Seniorem. A simple, ol’ angel from your troops.”

Gabriel looked at the angels around him. The answer was obvious.   
But he was still a minor, barely just graduated.

“Castiel.” Balthazar said quietly. Lucifer hid a smile.  
“What?” Gabriel erupted, “He will do no such thing.”  
“He’s more than capable, Gabe,” Balthazar replied, keeping his voice calm. 

Gabriel sighed. It was decided.

Lucifer smiled, “Perfect. The duel will take place at dawn.”  
***  
Castiel had been ready to pass out when Balthazar told him about Lucifer; there was no way he was going to be able to duel him. 

The sky was a deep pink when the sun’s first rays appeared. The angels were already gathered around the middle of the field, with Castiel in the traditional outfit of a duel; a white cloth wrapped around his torso and a sword and shield for his protection.

And in the distance, Lucifer’s army arose. 

The Morning Star himself stepped forward from the sea of nephilim, his white wings raised tall and proud in mockery. The two angels were a stark contrast, with one overshadowed in the black of his wings and the gold of the light on his cheekbones, whilst the other radiated peace in the white of his wings and the sickly pale aura that surrounded him. They were the polar opposites of each other but their blood ran hot with the golden ichor of angels, the need for spilt blood driving them forward. 

Lucifer stepped forward. Castiel mirrored the other angel, calming his nerves and holding on to his sword with a newfound ease. They both nodded their heads in acknowledgement and stepped back.

A few seconds passed before the conch sounded in the air, its piercing bellow forcing Castiel forward.

Unfortunately for him, Lucifer was faster. Knowing that his opponent had the advantage of the first attack, Castiel allowed him to strike first, blocking it with ease and then counterstriking at a similar pace to catch him off guard. Lucifer winced under the blow that landed on his shield, not anticipating Castiel’s strength. They slowly retreated, back to circling each other as they gauged their next move, instead of rushing their attack. 

The clouds above drew heavier, the sun’s rays blocked in grey.

They were nearly on each other now, and when Lucifer raised his sword above his head, ready to bring it down, Castiel lifted his shield, anticipating the blow. 

The power behind Lucifer’s attack was devastating. The sword had Lucifer’s immense height, the strength of his arm and the momentum of his lunge, all channelled into the sword as it cleaved down. 

Castiel’s left arm, his shield arm, was rendered numb, which soon morphed into a dull ache that travelled all the way down to his left torso. But that was nothing compared to the fear settling in his heart, the very real possibility that he would lose. He was a soldier, barely out of training, whereas Lucifer was an archangel who came with an army. 

He cleared his head of the thoughts, and lunged at the angel, attacking with a renewed strength. But his body ached. His mind felt drugged. And his left arm throbbed.

And yet the half attempt at swiping through Lucifer drew ichor. 

Lucifer crumpled.

And the angels were so distracted by the small act of triumph that it was too late before they noticed the black clouds swirling above them. 

The arrows had looked like rain from afar. 

Castiel’s eyes widened. Before he could move, he saw Lucifer rise.   
“Did you really think I walked in here without a plan?” he sneered.

Castiel’s throat tightened. 

Lucifer came closer, leaning in to whisper in his ears, just as angels started panicking at the sight of the demons above them.  
“I killed your parents.”

Castiel closed his eyes.

“And Samandriel. And Haniel. It was a plan, garnering your unusual strength through the grief that followed and twisting circumstances so that the angels placed equal amounts of trust and distrust in you. And well, it worked, didn’t it. Death is imminent.”

Bile was rising in his throat.

“And you, my dear dark angel, are next.”

Castiel tried to move away, but before his legs could carry him away from Lucifer, an arrow pierced through his heart. When he looked down, the tip of the arrow covered in his ichor was the last thing he saw before the world blacked out.

It was the first arrow of the thousands that rained upon the God’s angels.  
And now, the angels hide their wounds behind wings that can’t fly. They fell from heaven into another land filled with hostile unfamiliarities, the shafts of the arrows still protruding from their bodies. Hundreds died, many in the war before and many in the massacre that followed. Castiel was simply the pawn that catalysed a disaster. It was an angel’s tragedy.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me; they're Eric Kripke's works of fiction.


End file.
